


Go in Peace

by Ellz



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Panic Attacks, Wingman Vili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29816544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellz/pseuds/Ellz
Summary: A small break and distraction from the office was all Hytham really needed, so he thinks. And the visiting Jarl has more of a plan than he’s letting on.
Relationships: Eivor & Hytham (Assassin's Creed)
Kudos: 16





	Go in Peace

  
  


The loud merriment of the settlement rang through the hills, Hytham couldn’t bring himself to join in the festivities this time. Whether that be from the abundance of work he had neglected to complete during the day or the solemn feeling that lingered long past its welcome, he couldn’t be sure. But it was easier to blame the work load, no one argued with that. Well as far as he was aware, no one would.

Settled comfortably on the pile of hay and pillows in the corner, kept the coming winter chill at bay. The rocking wind would leak in through the windows and seeped through the floor boards but the thick cloak on his shoulders prevented it from becoming bone biting. A few letters scattered about around him, all retrieved by Eivor on her travels. Each hinted at another target, some more clearly than others. 

He rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand, eyes strained from the dim candle light and the scrawl handwriting. The letters no longer foreign to him but definitely not the easiest to decipher especially when author was a horrible speller. He sighed and pulled the cloak closer, regret nagged for choosing tedious work. 

Laugher ran past the bureau, the giggles resembled Mayda’s and that boy, who’s name forever escaped him. Young lovers, how sweet. Louder conversations rang further away, someone challenging Eivor to a race to the water. He couldn’t hear the rest but the loud clang of armor and weapons hitting the ground and heavy footfalls were a clear enough an answer. He dropped his shoulders, and stared up at the ceiling. Chaotic and vibrant, but a smile pulled at his face. Closest he’d been to a home. 

“What’re you doing all alone in here, friend?” A voiced called from the door, one not immediately distinguishable to Hytham. He relaxed his neck and looked toward the doorway. “The long house is still lit and the girls still a dancing.”

Vili. Eivor had mentioned him in great detail after returning from Snotinghamsire, he recalled his notes about the Jarl from that exchange. However, she failed to mention his ridiculous height. Were all these northmen huge?

“Have work to finish, the Order waits for no one. Not celebration nor sleep it seems.”

“Anything can wait for celebration,” Vili laughed and walked across the office. Floorboards creaked under the new weight. He flopped next to Hytham on the pile of hay. He laid on his side, propped by his elbow with an obviously drunk expression adorning his features. “Lives are short in this realm and we all need something in the coming cold days to look forward to.”

“The locals say these winters are nothing compared to Norway’s, I’m sure they’ll fair just fine,” he sighed defeated. The uninvited guest wasn’t leaving so soon.

Vili’s deep laugh shook him to his core. “The summers days thawed our blood, the chill always nips hardest at first.” Vili bit his teeth together, attempting to snarl as well but a drunken smile pulled harder. 

“I suppose you have been here a while as well. How long have you been in England? Eivor mentioned you two had been childhood friends but not much after.” Hytham pushed the letters away, his eyes spent and with the newest distraction nothing in regards to work was getting accomplished anyway. 

“Nearly a decade, maybe more?” Vili rolled to his back to glance up at the rafters, possibly to find his train of thought. “I’ve spent most the time soaked in ale, details become a little fuzzy after the fourth horn.” 

Hytham pulled his knees up, and propped his chin on them. The cloak encompassed him entirely now. He mused his thoughts, the temptation of just forgetting seemed allusive. It explained why most the older members of the brotherhood turned to drinking or similar alternatives.

“I remember the good times, that’s what matters most. And waking up to a mystery keeps life interesting between the raiding and fighting.” 

“Hmm, I’ve spent so long studying and taking in the world. Losing time like that seem counter productive.” He jerked away, Vili had swatted at his shin. No vindication in is face, if anything that smarmy smile that charmed so many was broader. 

“Time spent enjoyed is not lost. I may not remember it but I know it was enjoyed. Can the same be said about your studying?” 

Hytham wiggled his toes, they started to go numb. The bane of his northern travels, numb feet. He looked at all the scrolls and letters scattered about the bureau, he did enjoy what he did. But also ached to travel again. He’d spent the first twenty years of his life never permanently fixed to one location or people. He cursed his injury and his own impatience. 

Vili took note of his silence and heavy look. In many way the younger man resembled Eivor, he could see the way the two had worked well together. When she spoke of her side mission to exterminate the order, she had glowing praise for him. While he had adopted a few of Eivor’s mannerism. The silent defensive ones mainly. 

“No offense to your trade that is. But is that what you want? Want as in for yourself?”

Hytham opened his mouth but closed it immediately. What did he want? He wanted the Hidden Ones to thrive in England but he also wanted his freedom. The allure of this community also held him. Family, obligation and freedom. He wanted guidance but no longer had that. “I’m not sure? Life has moved faster than I could have imagined.” 

“Maybe that’s too big a task. How about for the night? Much easier to find a pretty thing to plow that determine your life’s goal, eh?” 

He pursued his mouth, not the term he would have chosen but he definitely needed away from all things Hidden Ones. Just for a few hours, he had to return though. “Fine, to the long house we go.”

The deep chortle the erupted next to him, it clutched Hytham deep in his chest. Vili rolled to his back and gracefully to his feet, lacking the common drunken stupor one would expect. Reluctantly, Hytham followed reminding himself this was his idea. Toes still painful and numb made the initial steps a struggle. Vili forced the horn in Hytham’s hands and gave that smile that could melt mountains and any woman’s heart. “Drink up!”

He inhaled deeply and chugged the honeyed liquid, the taste barely grazing his tongue. Only the burn in his throat and following coughs served as reminders. The damned laughing returned and a large hand smacked him on the back. He’d definitely need more if he was dealing with Vili for the night. 

He wanted a distraction for the night, nothing else. Something to keep his mind off far off lands, responsibilities of his occupation, something to ground the him in the moment. Hytham pushed the emptied horn back toward Vili and he returned the exchange with the massive weight of his arm draped across Hytham’s shoulders as he dragged him up the hill. 

The Long house was still illuminated by a myriad of candles, food remained on the tables mostly eaten. The only Ravensthorpe residents still dancing were Randvi, Petra, and Alvis, however the latter was more stumbling. The rest were all there from Snotinghamsire. Hytham’s gaze drifted further down the hall, a few congregated by the throne. 

Eivor stood with that small group, a large cloak draped over her shoulder. Her hair and trousers dripped a small puddle where she stood, soaked from the race. Her laugh and expression far too loose, obviously had drunken her fair share at this point. Those around her none the wiser as to why, it was all a celebration why question.

Hytham inhaled slowly and held it beyond comfort. Was this the right idea after all? He’d been in Ravensthorpe for years now, he knew Randvi would drink her weight in mead and dance with whomever willing. Often becoming overtly clingy. Petra would smile and laugh till she fell off a bench, telling stories they’d all heard for the millionth time. But the way she would construct her odyssey and charm made the listener stay. Hytham knew their charms at this point and their vices. 

He took a reluctant step toward the throne. Vili still had his arm on the younger man’s shoulder, and noticed his deviated attention. With a guiding push, he directed Hytham toward the music and away from the leader. “You came to have fun, don’t fret. I got this. You get a drink.” Vili winked. 

Hytham could hold his own in a fight. His heavy mind would not cooperate with his limbs. Blue eyes were as common as the ocean up north, he eventually accepted he was no longer unique in that regard. But the dark blue of Vili’s suffocated like deep water. So he followed his order. 

Petra pulled him into the circle, twirling and laughing. Her voice like the morning birds. Very few men remained, Hytham didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse for himself at this moment. He kept being pulled back to the group by the throne.

Vili had join the small group, Eivor, Sigurd and Trygve. As Vili approached Eivor, he whispered in her ear which earned him a hard hit to the chest. The recoil was visible from across the long house, but so was the smile and booming laugh that followed. 

Hytham’s stomach dropped. Randvi pushed a mug into his hands, her smile jovial and eyes holding maternal understanding. He drank without regard. Live in the moment, he reminded himself. 

He wanted to keep track of their conversations but whenever his head seemed to migrate to that direction, a hard pull on his wrist occurred. It was always Randvi. 

A few songs passed and Hytham had noticed Sigurd retired to his quarters. Vili and Trygve stood opposite to Eivor, continuing the conversation. Although now, their stances were more diplomatic. Discussion on legitimate matters, hopefully. Vili’s dark eyes caught Hytham’s and gave a small nod of acknowledgement. What for?

The mead had finally kicked in and Hytham was gone. He recalled bumping and laughing with Randvi a few times. His feet ached and most were either unconscious on the floor or had left for their beds for the night. Randvi was nowhere to be seen, Petra had been charmed away by another woman and Alvis was sound asleep under the bear trophy. Hytham sat on the floor, leaning his back on the bench and head on the seat. 

His dizzied mind traced the rafters to regain semblance of order. Most of his thoughts were a muddled mess of illegible English notes still on his floor, an old lecture Basim would rehash every few months and the night that just passed. The uncomfortable feeling from earlier settled back in. He wasn’t sure if that was the guilt or the alcohol making a reappearance. 

A small kick to his shoe, jerked his mind back to the present. He looked up at the offender, and Eivor smiled down at him. “Let’s get you home.” 

He reached up and took hold of her forearm and felt her grip on his. With an effortless pull, he was raised to his feet. A slight stumble forward, he bumped his forehead to her cloaked shoulder. He held his face there and took in a shaky breath. She wasn’t wearing a spaulder.

Slowly his hand moved toward the missing armor, throat tightening. Her arm found its place on his waist and supported his form. “You’re worst for ware than I thought, my friend.”

Hytham mumbled something even incoherent to his own ears and they started the short trek back to the bureau. The sun was already cresting on the hills, painting the horizon a dull blue. 

Once to the stair of the bureau’s threshold, he placed his free hand on her side to halt. Paused on the platform, he stepped out of her hold and looked up at the puzzled expression. Vili’s eyes were a siren’s song pulling you under. Hers were just as foreboding but felt like the eye of the storm and he couldn’t meet them.

His mouth opened and immediately closed. He shook his head, an embarrassed smile trying to conceal his fault. “Always caring for everyone else but has anyone asked how you are?”

Her hands cupped his face and pulled his gaze to meet hers, “I am fine, no. More than fine. All are well, alliances secured. I’m in desperate need of sleep but that’s a given.” 

Hytham leaned his cheek into her hand, and pressed his hand to hers. Thumb tracing the side of hers, always the right hand. Looking at her eyes through his lashes, no insincerity in them. Why would she?

He swallowed thickly. The image of her sitting on these steps all night during a few past feasts, grinding the edge of her axe with the wet stone. Hands shaking uncontrollably unless occupied. She would stare blankly ahead at the river. He’d called her name a few times from within the bureau, and receive no response.

Gently he’d touch her shoulder, already braced to block the axe swing. “It’s just me, Hytham.” The ragged breathe and wide eye expression as her arm was guided down, still haunted his mind to this day. Another encounter with death so close. 

Her knuckles around the handle were a shade of white, not even Odin himself could pry it from her. He lowered himself slow to sit next to her, staring at the darkness and her from the corner of his eye. His shoulders still tensed to brace another swing. While his injury was no were near as painful, not even the strongest of them could restrain Eivor for long. “What has you on edge tonight, my friend?”

The was a long pause, her shoulders rounded and chest slowly expanded. The muscles in her jaw flexed and her head shook slightly. “I can’t stand the smell of feasts. Normally, I’d be drunk and not notice. But... I was distracted, it got to me. Like some seidr, it binds my thoughts.” She spoke to the space out there it appeared more than him. 

His gaze followed her line of sight, nothing was there. The houses of the settlement were quiet, as most residents were in the large building celebrating or already turned in for the night. He leaned back, his side pressed to the door frame. Attempting to give her a semblance of space on the small platform. “Where does it bind them?”

She licked her lower lip, jaw still shaking. Never before had he seen the poet struggle so much with speech. “I’m stuck in the night my parents died. The smells of food and people talking, the longer I stay amongst them with a clear head. It feels as if a noose is around my throat and sewing needles press into my hands. I see that night again and again.” Her grip slackened, the grains had left an impression on her palms. 

A pained smile pulled at her mouth, “As a child I would scream for hours at them. Sigurd would try to calm me but who ever put this curse was talented. Eventually, I found other ways to ward it off. I suppose without Sigurd here, it came back in force.”

Hytham nodded along. He was skeptical of the magic they would speak of, as he was of most things. But he couldn’t deny the mess she was before him, this was not...normal. “Then I shall sit guard with you tonight. If the caster is to show themselves, they’ll be no match for the both of us,” he replied, drawing a knee up and kept focus outward.

It was small, almost unnoticeable glance. She jerked to look at his face, his tone conveyed no mockery and neither did his features. She relaxed her shoulders as the quiet sounds of the settlement put her at ease. 

That was a different time, years between now and then. It only happened a handful of times, but each time Hytham left his post from behind the desk and would sit vigil with her. The tension would ease and he’d feel useful once more. She could defend herself from invaders, forge alliances and lead without him. But this small act gave him solace. Perhaps that was the unease he felt at the start of the night. She was all those things in those nights; obligation, family and freedom.

“Yes, indeed. Sleep is much needed. Go in peace.” He spoke into her palm, unable to maintain eye contact. He’d blame the lack of sleep and tire eyes but it was more he didn’t want to watch her retreat. He withdrew his hand from hers, it fell from her hand to her wrist and resumed its position at his side. She pressed her forehead to his and held it there. A hair’s breadth away, her lips skimmed his. 

“How can I when by your side is the only time I’ve know peace?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A 2am idea followed by 2am editing and lack of indents. Bless it be.


End file.
